


As long as a dog lives

by SapphoIsBurning



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Pining, Post-Superstar Shakeup, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 22:56:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10818492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphoIsBurning/pseuds/SapphoIsBurning
Summary: Corbin has a lot to think about now that Dean's gone.





	As long as a dog lives

They had something, for a minute.

Now that he's gone, Baron Corbin thinks about Dean Ambrose more than ever. Thinks about Dean's tight jeans and the gray tank he only wore for the real good beatdowns, thinks about his smile. All the different smiles, really--the mean one for on TV, for the crowd, or the smile for when he didn't think anyone was looking. The best smile, though, that's when you surprise him, make him smile when he wasn't expecting it. Corbin tries to hang onto the image, of Dean freezing and then brightening, his eyebrows going up, his whole posture changing because of something you said. It's a good image.

Sometimes Corbin worries that the more he tries to remember a memory, the more he damages it, and that he might use his memories up. What if he can't remember Dean's smile? He could watch Raw. He bet Dean was smiling all the time on Raw. But it's not the same, is it?

Mojo asks Corbin if he's sad about the Intercontinental Title, that he won't be getting a rematch for it any time soon.

"Huh?" Corbin says. He looks up from where he's doodling on the back of a call sheet, sees he's doodling initials, crumples up the paper so no one sees. DA. BC.

"Leave him be," a drawling southern voice says. AJ puts a hand on Corbin's broad shoulder. "Son, it'll all work out. You'll see her again soon."

They both walk away before Corbin can form any idea what *they* think he's upset about. There's always a lot going on. Maybe they confused him for someone else.

He does watch Raw. He sees Dean's dimples, sees Dean shove a microphone in Seth Rollins's face, sees him grin. But that's not the smile he misses, is it?

Lying awake in a hotel room along the interstate, he counts the threads in the edge of the comforter, counts stripes in the plastered ceiling. There's no one to turn the lights off and stumble back into bed, and they agreed not to text. A clean break. It was supposed to be easier this way.

He checks his texts.

He gets up to go to the bathroom, splash water on his face, look at the circles under his eyes. He's tired all the time but he can't fall asleep. Too much to think about.

He doesn't have to be here. None of them have to be here. There's a house near where his mom lives in Kansas City with a big yard and a wrap around gingerbread porch. The red front door clashes with the trim and he loves it, always wanted to see what it looked like on the inside.

Last time he was home, it was for sale by owner.

He lays down in the bed, on top of the covers. He closes his eyes. He thinks about kids and dogs.

He hasn't been in one place long enough to have a dog for years, or else rented places that didn't allow them. He talked about this with Dean--fantasies about the biggest dog you could get, what the best dog is, how many dogs they could manage between the two of them. If you take your dog on the road, it has to be kind of small.

Corbin curses himself for falling asleep in the middle of a story Dean told about the dog he had as a kid. She was a shaggy mutt from a litter of puppies born in someone's backyard down the street and she was always scared of men with boots on. She ate everything, ate the covers off of schoolbooks and got Dean in trouble, ate plants, ate garbage. Corbin doesn't know what happened to her, other than what happens to all dogs in the end. Doesn't know when he's going to get the chance to ask.

Where was their end game? He thinks about holding Dean in his arms again, wants it, checks his texts. Thinks about the catalog of titanium and tungsten and white gold wedding rings that showed up in his mailbox at home along with the credit card ads and the bills and the weird coupons that pile up over a long time on the road. He thinks about sliding cool metal over Dean's finger, thinks about having something good for longer than a month, thinks about having something good forever. Or for as long as a dog lives. Why does he keep thinking about a baby with Dean's dimples? A yard full of kids Dean has taught to laugh chased by dogs he taught to play dead.

He could put an offer in on the house. He could do it Wednesday. Like buying something out of a catalog from a dream.

He checks his texts. One new message.

Hey  
received 1:14 am

His whole body relaxes. "Hey," he types. "Been thinking about you."


End file.
